


Temperance

by manic_intent



Series: Nature of the Beast [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Established Relationship, M/M, That AU that runs off One Life Five Hundred Florins, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 11:39:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6853153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lorenzo was still queasy enough that he had to venture to Pisa in a closed carriage, and later, it was through only sheer force of will that he managed diplomacy through the seemingly endless pomp and ceremony. When he was finally alone in his rooms in the Medici palazzo in Pisa, Lorenzo let out a shaky sigh of relief. </p><p>“You work too hard,” Giovanni said quietly, from the deep shadow  to his right, and in his shock, Lorenzo nearly dropped the taper he was holding. </p><p>“I see the guard rotation in Pisa is just as lax as Firenze’s.” It took all the discipline Lorenzo could summon to keep his voice steady.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Temperance

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: same kind of universe as 1 life 500 florins with Gio/Lorenzo, but of the fake dating or missed connections variety? or really anything in this universe. or with these two. 
> 
> Ahah it’s been a while since I googled the mess that seems to be Renaissance Italian politics. Since it’s in this particular ‘verse, unfortunately fake dating won’t fit, because their relationship is secret, so something else it is. Purposefully missed connections? ^^;; 
> 
> Hope OP enjoys this story.

1472

I.

The sculpture garden was quiet during winter. The works that Lorenzo had ordered to expand the garden had temporarily ceased with the coming of snow, rare for Firenze, which dusted carved marble and hewn benches alike. With the guards having hidden themselves politely behind archways, Lorenzo was free to enjoy the snowfall with the pretence of privacy. The cold mattered little when his blood burned.

His ‘guest’ was late, and clearly embarrassed to be found in exalted company. The young man that the Captain of the Guard ushered pointedly to Lorenzo’s side was handsome and slender and golden-haired, dressed in oddly colourful clothes, with a bright red cap and a brilliantly hued coat. Fresh-minted as a master in the Guild of Saint Luke, Leonardo da Vinci bowed, a little awkwardly, then blinked as Lorenzo waved the guards away and indicated that he take a seat on the bench. 

“Your previous master Verrocchio recommended you highly,” Lorenzo began briskly. 

Leonardo smiled, nervous. “He is kind to do so, _altezza_.” 

“The Guild has told me that you have a rare talent as a painter _and_ a rare interest in medicine. How good are you with alchemy?” 

“I am still a student of everything,” Leonardo said, startled enough by the question to be honest, perhaps. Curiosity was beginning to override Leonardo’s nervousness: the artist within him kept sneaking sidelong glances at the sculptures in the garden, wide-eyed and wistful. 

“You like the garden?”

“It is more beautiful than I imagined,” Leonardo was breathless, and here was one of his levers. Every man had avarice. 

“I could give you a key to it,” Lorenzo offered neutrally, “If you would do some work for me.” 

“A key!” Leonardo was astonished. “That is… very generous of you, _altezza_. But I have done no work of note. I am young yet.” 

“You are honest, at least,” Lorenzo could appreciate that, amused. “And you are not that much younger than I am. How good are you at keeping secrets?” 

“For a key to your garden, _altezza_ , you can buy my silence and all of my time besides,” Leonardo smiled, so very earnest. “Would you like a painting? Or a sculpture, perhaps?” 

“Perhaps in time.” Lorenzo studied Leonardo curiously. “You are a beta, I see.” Leonardo nodded. “What is your opinion of the _aspetti_?” 

Again Leonardo was startled. “It… well, it is part of human nature. Alphas, betas and omegas. It is an unavoidable part of society, which can be unfortunate.”

“Unfortunate, how?” 

“It is unfortunate that a person can be judged by their gender and their aspect, long before they are judged by their worth.” 

Lorenzo relaxed, though he was careful not to show it. Verrocchio _had_ spoken truly. “Are you aware that there are drugs that can dampen the effects of the _aspetti_?” 

“There were rumours in the Guild, but nothing in the books.” Leonardo was curious now, enough that he was leaning forward slightly, forgetting his graces. 

“We have been studying such drugs for a while,” Lorenzo lied. “But our study is incomplete. I will send notes and samples to your workshop in secrecy. Your task is to study the samples and provide me with something stronger. A complete solution, to the omega madness.” He watched Leonardo carefully as he said it. 

Leonardo blinked rapidly. “I did not expect this,” he said finally, his voice soft. 

“Can you do this for me or not?” 

“I can study the drugs, _altezza_ , but cannot promise the result. After all, I have not heard of such a thing until now.” Leonardo hesitated, staring at his knees. “It is not my place, but may I inquire… why would a beta like you, _padrone_ , need something like this?” 

“It is something that would make it so that no aspect can force their will on another. So may all people be made equal.” Lorenzo said evenly. “I have two children by my wife, a daughter and a son, and I will have more. Someday they will come into their own, and I would want them to be master of their own lives, no matter what they are.” 

It was a lie that he had practiced, and it worked: Leonardo was already nodding. “I can begin work immediately.” 

“In secret. The Church will not view this kindly.” 

“The Church does not rule me, _altezza_ ,” Leonardo assured him, still young enough to be so impetuous, and grinned as he kissed Lorenzo’s ring. Their conversation drifted to more pleasant topics, of Verrocchio and his workshop, and later, as Lorenzo rode Morello back to his palazzo, the ache had faded down to an uneasy simmer. 

His office was empty, as was his bedroom. Clarice and the children were in Roma, which suited Lorenzo during the winter months, so close to January. The madness this year would be especially bitter, and Lorenzo did not trust himself to hide it from her. He would have to feign illness until it was over, and he did not look forward to that either, not with the problem of Volterra so ill-resolved. He could not afford to show weakness. 

And yet - and yet Lorenzo would _not_ beg. He would not send a message to Monteriggioni. If the falcon had left his side, never to return because of what Lorenzo had chosen to do in Volterra, then, so be it. It was not the falcon’s place to rebuke the falconer. 

Resentment tided Lorenzo over to the still of night, tucked shivering under furs, struggling to remember the _metodi_. It was no use. Giovanni had long flown, and it had been Lorenzo who had driven him away.

1.0.

Giovanni watched December turn into January seated on the battlements of Monteriggioni, legs dangling in the air, ignoring the chill that seeped up from the stone. Lorenzo’s absence hurt like a gnawing ache that made all other discomforts trivial. There was a grunt behind him, and Mario sat beside him, grumbling, the cold teasing steam from his breath.

“You are being stubborn,” Mario told him. 

Giovanni sighed. “This again? I know you don’t even like Lorenzo.” 

“Whether I like him or not is of little relevance. The two of you have been bonded for years,” Mario scowled. “Probably long before you even told me, yes? This is the first January you have spent in Monteriggioni for longer than I can remember.” 

Giovanni dug his gloved hands briefly into the stone, fighting down exasperation. “I saw the ruthlessness in him as a child. I should have known that age would not temper it.” 

Another grunt. “Volterra was a tragedy-“

“That’s an understatement.” Lorenzo’s hired condotierri had _sacked_ Volterra savagely, murdering and raping its citizens.

“But what did you expect?” Mario shot back. “He was born to the _Medici family_. You were proud when he won that tournament three years ago. How does anyone get that good at jousting and bladework unless they have a killing instinct?” 

“He is-“ Giovanni bit the words down, but Mario heard them anyway.

“An omega? So what. They are people like any other.” 

_Where is the gentleness, the empathy?_ Giovanni wanted to ask, but it would have been rhetorical. Lorenzo those qualities in ample measure, if tightly controlled and narrowly funnelled into his family’s traditional patronage of the arts. “I could have stopped this.” 

“You tried, no doubt.”

“If we had not bonded-“ 

“Then he would have been revealed as an omega and no doubt his family would have arranged for him to disappear,” Mario cut in. “So perhaps his brother would have ruled in his place. And then what? Volterra would have happened anyway. Greed fed on both sides. The Duke that the Medici hired, he _did_ bid for peace. But war has always turned men into animals. Would it have mattered which of the Medici had hired them? The result would have been the same.” 

Giovanni started to disagree, then he hesitated. Would Giuliano, Lorenzo’s brother, have given the Duke of Urbino the same dictates? He doubted it. It had been Lorenzo who had counselled ruthlessness in Firenze, when others like Soderini had recommended reconciliation. But it had been true that the Duke of Urbino had settled for peace, that Volterra had been sacked by condottieri from both sides _after_ the arrangement. “I am unsure,” Giovanni said finally. 

“Matters of the Creed are often not so related to the politics of the land,” Mario shrugged. “But if you care so much about peace among the states, then your link to this Lorenzo remains your best chance of building it.”

“Peace that comes through ruthlessness is an illusion.” 

“The boy is still young,” Mario sniffed. “And should he survive to see a greater maturity, perhaps he’ll grow to become a better statesman.” Straightening up, Mario got to his feet. “It will be an ill year for Firenze, I think. There is word of a famine.” 

Giovanni nodded slowly, distracted. There had been a lead in Milan about a Piece of Eden. Perhaps- 

“And La Volpe sent word,” Mario added mildly. “It seems that someone in Firenze may be experimenting with Malik al-Sayf’s formula.” 

Giovanni glanced sharply up at Mario. “Sent word? When?”

“Just then. So I climbed up here to tell you about it. Some of the drugs’ ingredients are very esoteric. So when someone went about buying up all of it from suppliers in Firenze and Venezia, La Volpe took notice. He traced it to a young man, a master of the Guild of St Luke in Firenze by the name of Leonardo da Vinci.”

“I do not know that name.” 

“Perhaps you should. La Volpe investigated this Leonardo’s workshop, and found a cache of very familiar books and notes.” Mario shrugged. “The drugs have ill effects as they are. When modified… who knows?” 

Unnerved, Giovanni slept little for days, and in the end, took himself to Firenze in a poor mood. The ache in his bones had lessened grudgingly over the week now that Lorenzo’s heat was probably over, but it was still distracting, like a constant wound, and he slipped once on the icy rooftops on his way to Leonardo da Vinci’s workshop.

It was not what he expected. Instead of a clinic, or an apothecary, it was a painter’s workshop, with canvases and sketches everywhere, and some strange models built out of wood and cast metal in a corner. There was an assistant in a corner, sweeping up wood shavings, but other than that the workshop was empty but for a colourfully dressed young man, bent next to a bench, furiously sketching. 

Giovanni took a step back - maybe he had the wrong address - but the young man straightened up and noticed his presence with a blink and a warm, pretty smile, startlingly handsome. A beta. Suspicion sat as a cold weight in Giovanni’s belly as the young man ambled over. “ _Buongiorno_! Are you looking for something?” 

“Is this the workshop of Leonardo da Vinci?”

“It is, and I am he.” Leonardo looked Giovanni over curiously. “You travelled to Firenze this morning? It must have been a long and cold ride.” When Giovanni narrowed his eyes, frowning, Leonardo smiled reassuringly. “Your clothes, the mud on your shoes… ah, forgive me. It is a bad habit. Come in, come in. How strange. What is your business with me?”

“Is it strange for someone to have business with you, Maestro?” Giovanni asked, reluctantly amused by the young man’s earnestness despite himself. 

“Oh, I am not so well-known yet that someone would travel to Firenze to see me,” Leonardo said wryly. “Though you seem very solemn, _signore_ , for someone looking to buy a painting.” 

“Would I be looking to buy a painting?”

“What else? A sculpture? I am not yet so practiced. Perhaps you saw my work with Verrocchio, and that is why you are here?”

“You are a Master of the Guild of St Luke, are you not?”

“To my pride, yes. As a painter.”

“Not as a doctor?”

Leonardo stared at Giovanni in some surprise. “No. Not at all.” 

What _was_ Lorenzo up to? Or was La Volpe mistaken? “Ah, it was a curiosity of mine. You see, I am a trader in certain herbs,” Giovanni said mildly, “And it has come to my attention that you have cornered the market in some of them. They are not something that a painter would be interested in.” 

There it was, a faint widening in Leonardo’s eyes, the smile fading for a moment, then turning forced. This pretty young man was still unlearned enough at Court to school his face. “I think you are mistaken, _signore_. I am only a painter.” 

“Truly? A pity then. I thought that we could do business.”

Leonardo was intelligent enough not to take the bait. “If you are a purveyor of herbs, I may know people who are interested in your services. I could give you some names, perhaps.” 

Giovanni pretended interest, and later, scaling the wall, he waited on an adjoining roof. Eventually Leonardo emerged, considerably less colourful in a subdued brown cloak, hurrying through narrow streets until he came to a locked pigeon coop. Watching the bird fly off in the direction of the Medici palazzo, Giovanni sighed, and clenched his fists.

1473

II.

Ever since the warning from Leonardo that ‘some manner of armed merchant traveller’ had been poking around his workshop, Lorenzo had been expecting a visit from Giovanni, was irked when nothing happened, and then was exasperated at himself for even hoping. He had recovered from his heat with lingering headaches, grimly manoeuvred matters in Firenze to prepare for the upcoming famine, and then had to be packed off to Pisa to oversee the opening of the Florentine studio.

Lorenzo was still queasy enough that he had to venture to Pisa in a closed carriage, and later, it was through only sheer force of will that he managed diplomacy through the seemingly endless pomp and ceremony. When he was finally alone in his rooms in the Medici palazzo in Pisa, Lorenzo let out a shaky sigh of relief. 

“You work too hard,” Giovanni said quietly, from the deep shadow to his right, and in his shock, Lorenzo nearly dropped the taper he was holding. 

“I see the guard rotation in Pisa is just as lax as Firenze’s.” It took all the discipline Lorenzo could summon to keep his voice steady. 

He set the taper on his desk, and when he turned, he flinched to find Giovanni standing right before him, crowding close, garbed in white and silver and red. Gloved hands caught Lorenzo’s chin, turning his face gently but firmly to the right before Lorenzo swatted off Giovanni’s grip with bared teeth. Even through the leather, Giovanni’s touch had seemed impossibly warm, and with a sinking heart Lorenzo could feel the now-familiar scratchy restlessness. The madness, responding to his alpha’s touch. Under his cowl, Giovanni’s eyes were growing dilated. 

“You have been using the drugs again.” Giovanni’s voice pitched lower, closer to an alpha’s register. Lorenzo shuddered, and grit his teeth, abruptly furious. It was better than pain, than this treacherous sense of _longing_. 

“That is none of your business.” 

“I think that it is,” Giovanni growled, and _he_ was angry as well, though his temper seemed better leashed. “When you employ a _painter_ to experiment with the formulae of _my_ order.” 

“Leonardo is not just a painter.” 

“But he is not a doctor either!” 

“Court doctors cannot be trusted. Not with this kind of secret.” 

“And you can trust a _painter_?” 

“Who would believe such a story from him?” 

Giovanni let out a frustrated breath, banked behind clenched teeth. “Even the normal drugs are not meant for continued use.” 

“That is why I am curious to see if they can be improved.” 

When Giovanni spoke again, it was in a liquid growl, an alpha’s voice. “I _forbid_ you to-“ 

“You would _dare_.” Lorenzo hissed, too astonished for outrage. Outside of Lorenzo’s heat, and even then, only when it was torn from him, Giovanni had never used that register on Lorenzo before.

“Why would I not? You’ll _hurt_ yourself.” 

“Get out.”

“Not until you give me your word.” 

“I’ll call the guards,” Lorenzo threatened. 

“Try it!” 

“Why would _you_ care?” Lorenzo snarled, too angry now to watch his tongue. “You _left me_.” 

Giovanni grimaced as though physically struck. “Lorenzo,” he began carefully, but Lorenzo was no longer in any mood for diplomacy. 

“You don’t have the _right_ to call me that. You told me that I could _trust_ you. _I_ thought that I could trust you.” 

“Your condottieri _sacked_ Volterra-“

“And you think that I do not know what that means?” Lorenzo fired back. “I _went_ to Volterra to see what had been done. To hear its grievances. I never meant for the Duke of Urbino’s men to do what they did. Nor did he. Was it a mistake to counsel force in the first place? Maybe. But I do _not_ run from my mistakes. And it is not _your place_ to judge me.”

“Then whose?” Giovanni countered, quiet now. “Whose counsel do you value? Your wife’s? I know you do not. Your brother’s? That painter’s?” 

Lorenzo blinked, surprise unravelling his anger. Now that his temper was cooling, he did not need his aspect’s empathy to understand _this_ edge to Giovanni’s temper. Giovanni’s jealousy was ill-worn. “Clarice is also a beta.” 

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“We have two children,” Lorenzo probed. 

“Aye and so?” Giovanni asked warily. 

“You never seemed concerned before,” Lorenzo pointed out, and watched, satisfied, as confusion disarmed the last of Giovanni’s temper. With his aspect, bending someone to his will had always been child’s play… face to face. 

Instead of stuttering, though, Giovanni merely sighed. “I know that look.” To Lorenzo’s indignation, Giovanni closed the distance between them and scooped Lorenzo up, ignoring his yelp, carrying him with easy strength towards the bedroom. Pressed close, it was difficult to remember to struggle, and Lorenzo settled for not trying to breathe in too deeply, scrambling for the _metodi_. The drugs were locked in his desk, too far and forever away. This was better, Giovanni settling them on their flanks, awkwardly trying to remove his gear with Lorenzo curled against him, grateful for the proximity and hating that he was grateful. 

Lips pressed against Lorenzo’s cheek, and Giovanni sighed again as Lorenzo hissed and jerked away. “Rest, _padrone_ ,” he said gently. “We’ll speak again in the morning. You look like hell.” 

“Oh, and whose fault is that?” Lorenzo mumbled, though he allowed Giovanni to settle them more comfortably on the bed. Sleep was easier, and deep.

2.0.

Lorenzo was icily silent in the morning, until he broke his fast, though his colour was better and the hollows under his eyes did not seem so deep. Giovanni knew that it was nature that made it near physically painful to see Lorenzo like this, that made him want to go down on his knees and kiss Lorenzo’s hands and beg his master to forgive him. He stayed silent instead, retracing the _metodi_ in his mind, and ate nothing but some bread and water.

“How long will you tarry in Pisa, _altezza?_ ” Giovanni asked, trying for meekness and probably failing. 

Lorenzo regarded him with narrowed eyes, unappeased. “Why do you ask?” 

Giovanni bit down his irritation. Anger had broken his careful strategies during the night: Lorenzo had not only swiftly disarmed him, Giovanni knew he had damaged what little trust Lorenzo had left in him even further. “A curiosity.”

“Keep those to yourself,” Lorenzo growled, then he seemed to hesitate, and finally, he conceded grudgingly, “Until the new university is set up. Perhaps until the end of the year.” 

“That is a long time to be away from Firenze.” 

“I will visit. Giuliano is attending to Medici interests. And it is not like I will be blind and deaf here.” 

“All to set up a university?” 

Lorenzo shrugged. “Universities are a matter of prestige, which is another word for power. What about you? Did you have business in Pisa? I know you met Leonardo months ago.” 

“Business in Venezia prevented me from investigating further for a time, but once I did, and it became clear to me what this Leonardo was intending to do, I came to Pisa.” 

Lorenzo narrowed his eyes. “If you want to destroy me there are simpler ways. Though, perhaps, none quite as humiliating. Is that the point of this?” 

“No! Not at all.” Giovanni said unhappily. “Is that what you think?” 

“Then why do you object to me trying to improve the drugs?” Lorenzo inquired coldly. “Why are you _here_ , trying to force your will on me? You won’t find me easy to break.” 

“Has it come to this then?” Giovanni murmured wearily. “ _Altezza_ , it is for your sake that I am concerned.”

“Don’t lie to me, it’s tedious. If you did not want to hurt me then you would not have left. And I hope you do not think me so foolish as to try new drugs without having them tested first,” Lorenzo retorted disdainfully. “I do not see concern when I look at you. Only an alpha who is angry at an omega who cannot be commanded.” 

“You see someone who thought that he had pledged himself to an honourable man,” Giovanni replied evenly. “To a man who sought peace in Italia, with the wit and resources to make it happen.” 

“Peace is a matter to be negotiated from a position of strength. So I have once believed,” Lorenzo added grudgingly, when Giovanni made as if to disagree. “Every Medici child groomed for power learns a set of golden rules. _Any city under our care must be treated well_. I know what I have done. I have tried to make _amends_.” 

“So you did.” Giovanni conceded. Instead of anger he now felt only weariness. Lorenzo’s tension was obvious enough, and it only accentuated how _young_ he was, how untested, even with a life spent being groomed for rule. Lorenzo had been made the head of his House at the tender age of twenty, after all, with the death of his father and grandfather. “I am sorry that I left.” 

“I think that I am grateful that you did. You have taught me some useful lessons by doing so.” Lorenzo’s eyes were hard. “That no one can be trusted. Not even those whom I’ve known most of my life.” 

“That was not the lesson I wished to teach.” 

“No? Well. Sometimes matters work out differently despite the best of intentions. You and I both understand that now, do we not?” 

“Can _I_ make amends?” Giovanni asked wryly. 

“What would be the point? I do not think that you are truly sorry. You think that I was wrong to do what I did.” 

“I said that I was sorry that I _left_ ,” Giovanni pointed out. “There were better ways…” he trailed off, when Lorenzo started to frown. “My order has aligned itself with tyrants before,” he said finally. “Sometimes by design, sometimes by accident. Always, the suffering that this causes is immense: ours are not blades to be blooded lightly. I did not leave you to punish you, _altezza_. I left because I was afraid. Of what you might have become. Of what I might then do in your name.” 

Lorenzo sat back, surprised. “I see,” he said finally. “Then I have misunderstood.” 

“I am not the sort of person who would want to control another,” Giovanni ventured, and when Lorenzo made as if to object, he added, “Not normally. It took me years to wean you off the drugs, _padrone_. Can you see why I am concerned?” 

“Yours is not the safest of lives,” Lorenzo said flatly. “If you die, what then?” 

“You would be freed to bond with another alpha.” When Lorenzo stiffened, Giovanni added reluctantly, “At least have this Leonardo discuss his progress with La Volpe.” 

For a moment, Lorenzo seemed poised to object, then he sniffed. “And La Volpe will be so inclined to help?”

“I will convince him.” 

“… _bene_ ,” Lorenzo said reluctantly. “ _Va bene_. I will speak with Leonardo.” 

“So,” Giovanni began tentatively, “About matters between us-“ 

“I don’t trust you any longer,” Lorenzo told him bluntly. “Nor, it appears, do you trust _me_. You may continue to work at my bank if you need the money, that I will not begrudge you. But for everything else… perhaps in time.” 

Even this little had been conceded guardedly, as though it had wounded Lorenzo to admit, even elliptically, that he still needed Giovanni. With this Giovanni knew he had to be content. For now.

1474

III.

With the University at Pisa established, Lorenzo returned to Firenze with relief in the middle of winter. He had not seen hide nor hair of Giovanni for a month, though that was normal, and although they had parted on relatively fair terms, Lorenzo had started to grow restless on the turn of the year. He had no mood for the festivities that Giuliano had arranged, and was glad that Clarice hadn’t bothered to chance the winter roads, even though there was no snow this year.

The palazzo was still bitterly cold, thanks to the thick stone, but Lorenzo did not feel it, restless again. Despite La Volpe’s guidance, Leonardo had not made much breakthrough with the drugs, though it seemed that he had at least earned some grudging praise from the old thief. In the emptiness of his bedroom, Lorenzo felt a brief pang of fear that ebbed quickly to annoyance, and he considered the hidden drawer at his desk for a long moment before exhaling loudly and preparing for bed. 

An omega’s madness made sleep hard to come by, particularly without the drugs. Was this what addicts felt, bereft of their vices? It always came like a pain in his gut, like a hunger that had gnawed too close to his flesh, consuming him in turn, leaving nothing but more hunger behind. It was like fever. The sheets were damp under his skin and he breathed in shallow gasps. The _metodi_ made him stabilise his breathing, harsh as it was, and then had him recall something that would centre him and calm him. Lorenzo always pictured the Arno. It would be too easy to think of Giovanni. 

The night was turning towards dawn when Lorenzo gave up expecting to hear the faint scrape of a boot against the window sill. He took a tincture of the drugs with hands that shook against the cup, and he knew that it was late enough into his heat that the gesture was probably purely symbolic. Sleep was no easier, and in the morning, Lorenzo faced the mirror with bruised eyes and the day with a foul temper. As such, when he returned late to his chambers and found a man cast in shadow by the windows, Lorenzo nearly turned right on his heel for the guard. 

“Apologies for using the window,” _Mario_ Auditore, of all people, stepped out into the dim glow of the taper. “But you are a difficult man to get hold of during the day. By the way, your rooftop patrol system is highly inept. The archer who watches your northern flank should be fired.” 

“What are you…” Lorenzo trailed off, suddenly uneasy. “Did something happen to Giovanni?” 

“You could say that,” Mario growled, as brusque as ever. “But the damned fool is still alive, at least, and as stubborn as ever, what with forcing me to come all the way here personally rather than sending a missive. Apparently today is your birthday? Honestly, what is the problem? If he owes you a gift, unfortunately he was not lucid enough to tell me what it was, so I have not brought it.”

Mario did not know? Lorenzo stared. “ _Lucid_?”

“Pah, he met a swordsman who was nearly too good for him and caught a fever from the infection. He was sleeping it off nicely in Monteriggioni, at least until I made the mistake of telling him the date last night.” Mario rolled his eyes. “You’d think that the Gates of Hell themselves had opened in Firenze, the way he was carrying on.”

“I see. Perhaps it was the fever.” So Giovanni had not revealed the timing of Lorenzo's... weakness, to his own brother. 

“Perhaps,” Mario said sourly. “I think I should have just ridden out of Monteriggioni and turned back, for all the difference it seems to have made.”

“How _is_ Monteriggioni?” Lorenzo asked weakly, setting aside the taper. He did not know precisely what to think about the relief that he felt, this embarrassing sense of pleasure. It felt like weakness, but he was not so sure. After all, Lorenzo had survived the night, and it was Giovanni who was sorely wounded.

“We get by.” 

“It was not in the best repair when I last visited-“

Mario scowled instantly. “Time has not taught you manners.” 

“Merely pointing out,” Lorenzo said neutrally, carefully hiding his amusement, “That should you need funding, you need but ask.” 

“And fly the flags of the Medici and Firenze off my battlements, I presume.” 

“It would add a little colour to those old walls.” 

Mario growled something rude about Lorenzo’s lineage and hauled himself pointedly out of the window, and Lorenzo waited until he could hear the faint sound of a step, heading away, before he closed and latched the window and rubbed a hand slowly over his face. Tonight. Tonight he would not use the drugs.

3.0.

On hindsight, sending Mario to Lorenzo when Giovanni had been a feverish daze had probably not helped matters. Mario had been in a bad mood when he had returned: apparently the trip had not improved his opinion of Lorenzo’s character. And so, when Giovanni returned to Firenze, he was resigned to his fate.

To his annoyance and surprise, Lorenzo had company in his chambers. Lorenzo was studying some scroll on his desk, while beside him Leonardo was talking animatedly, flushed with excitement. Quietly, Giovanni lifted the latch of a window and let himself in, only to stiffen as a blade pressed lightly against his throat.

La Volpe’s purple eyes narrowed briefly into slits, then the stiletto withdrew up his sleeve, and he scowled. “So you are not dead.”

“I am pleased to see you too, old man,” Giovanni said dryly, and La Volpe’s frown deepened. 

Over at the desk, Lorenzo straightened up, his expression carefully blank, while Leonardo stiffened and took a step back. “ _Altezza_ , that voice - that’s the man who visited my workshop, I am sure of it.” 

“Yes, no doubt, he does love to poke his nose into my business. Leonardo, this is Giovanni, an associate of La Volpe’s, and one of my assassins. Giovanni, you’ve already met Leonardo under false pretences.” 

“With the best of intentions.” Giovanni itched to step closer, to gather Lorenzo in his arms, but he knew better, and stayed by La Volpe. 

“Ah, I see,” Leonardo smiled warmly at him. “Well then, I’m sorry that I was so suspicious. You see, I was a little worried: I thought you might have come from the Church, or the Pazzi. Why did you not just say that you were from the _altezza_?”

“And you would have believed him?” Lorenzo seemed amused. 

Leonardo looked genuinely puzzled. “Why not?” 

La Volpe sighed. “Leonardo, you are still like a little lamb at the worst of times. It is a good thing that you have asked me to watch him,” La Volpe told Lorenzo, to Giovanni’s astonishment. 

“The sky is falling,” Giovanni said mildly, “For I have heard La Volpe express concern over the welfare of a mortal man.” 

Leonardo blushed, and La Volpe rolled his eyes. “Leonardo is quite an extraordinary young man.” 

“Wonders never cease. Praise? From you?” Giovanni chuckled. La Volpe glared at him, even as Lorenzo cleared his throat. 

“The hour is late. Thank you for your update, Leonardo,” Lorenzo clasped Leonardo on the shoulder. “I am encouraged.” 

Giovanni looked inquiringly at La Volpe, but the Immortal was pointedly ignoring him now, instead sweeping imperiously over to Leonardo’s side to usher him out of the chamber. When the great doors closed, Lorenzo began to roll up the scroll, pausing when Giovanni strode over to his elbow. The script, however, was… “Back to front?” Giovanni squinted. 

“A strange quirk of its author.” Lorenzo rolled up the rest quickly and locked it in a hidden compartment under his desk. “Leonardo thinks that given a year or two he should be able to develop a better formula. He has managed to stabilise some of the side-effects.” 

“Good,” Giovanni made himself say, and as Lorenzo arched an eyebrow, he dared to curl an arm around the small of Lorenzo’s back, relaxing when Lorenzo allowed himself to be pulled closer.

“So I hear from your brother that you nearly got yourself killed.” 

“And now I am better.” Giovanni tipped up Lorenzo’s wrist to kiss his ring. “ _Altezza_.” 

“You must have been very ill when you sent _Mario_ to me as a diplomatic gesture.” When Giovanni grimaced, Lorenzo prodded him in the shoulder. “A letter would have sufficed.” 

“Would it?” 

Lorenzo’s lips pressed into a thin line. “It would have had to.” 

“I think you do not like to share me,” Giovanni said lightly, and tried to pull Lorenzo towards the bedchamber, only for Lorenzo to dig in his heels. 

“You are recovered?” 

“I rode to Firenze and climbed up your wall. By the way, the archer on the north side-“

“Yes, yes, your brother told me.” Lorenzo said impatiently, and his fingers stilled on Giovanni’s arm, then dropped down to rap knuckles against Giovanni’s belt buckle. “Get all of this off.” 

Sometimes Giovanni wondered if Lorenzo knew how much power he truly had over his alpha. Giovanni’s cock was stiffening just from anticipation, and he was a little breathless as he asked, “Are you certain?” 

“You know that I hate repeating myself.” Lorenzo pulled away, heading for the bedchambers, where he watched as Giovanni stripped away his cowl and his armour, his bracers, his sash and padded undershirt, breeches and boots, the undergarments last. 

Even with the warmth from the hearth and the rugs under his feet he could feel the chill from the window, but Giovanni said nothing as Lorenzo circled around him appraisingly. Fingers pressed lightly against the latest of his scars, then Lorenzo made a small, tight sound and pushed at his shoulders. On his knees then, naked, like a supplicant. Giovanni kissed the ring that was presented to him, then nosed up to the soft flesh on the underside of Lorenzo’s wrist. This he had always known. With Lorenzo, Giovanni was his servant first, his lover second. The alpha within him had long learned to bend the knee. 

Fingers curled in Giovanni’s hair, holding him in place and loosening the ribbon as Lorenzo navigated his own belt and clothes with impatient fingers. Giovanni swallowed what he was given and begged for the rest with a low and muffled whine, until Lorenzo cursed quietly and stiffened in his mouth and set both hands on Giovanni’s shoulders. Nails bit into Giovanni’s skin as he sucked down what he could and gagged himself trying to take more, still whining, a muffled keening sound that seemed more grateful than desperate, more worshipful than lustful. 

Above him Lorenzo was a little louder than usual, all hoarse gasps, which was probably going to be the only hint that Giovanni would ever get that he had been missed. Narrow hips twitched restlessly against Giovanni’s mouth and fingers. “Giovanni,” Lorenzo whispered, the name broken over his hitching breath, and Giovanni shivered helplessly, trying to take Lorenzo deeper down his throat. This made Lorenzo laugh, though it was a shallow and strangled sound, fingers curling back into Giovanni’s hair. “Don’t finish yet. I want to ride you on the bed.” 

Giovanni choked, and it was only through sheer effort that he managed to stop himself from spilling, squeezing his fingers tightly around the base of his cock. Lorenzo laughed again, because his young master was often cruel in the bedchamber… of _course_ Lorenzo knew his effect on Giovanni. He had to. He had an instinct for power and a taste for blood, and in this Giovanni had to admit that he was a willing victim. When Lorenzo held him tightly down and filled his mouth with bitter spend, Giovanni drank it down in eager gulps. 

Lorenzo took his time removing his clothes, and his skin was cold by the time he was straddling Giovanni under the quilts. “I should let you suffer,” Lorenzo told him, his tone lazy with satiation. 

Against Lorenzo’s thigh, Giovanni’s cock ached fitfully. “If you wish.” 

“Or have you beg.”

“You always have me beg,” Giovanni reminded Lorenzo wryly. 

“It is something that you are good at,” Lorenzo conceded, smug now, shifting up as his spine curved, and Giovanni blinked as his cock rubbed between the cleft of Lorenzo’s rump and came away slick. “I’ve been expecting your return to Firenze.” 

“I-“ The rest of Giovanni’s words crumbled away into a harsh gasp as Lorenzo started to sink down over him, not quite loose enough for comfort, not quite tight enough for pain. Giovanni’s next breath heaved out in a sob, and again, Lorenzo laughed. 

He rode Giovanni against the sheets with a violence that surprised them both, hands clenched on Giovanni’s shoulders. Lorenzo’s grip would bruise him on the morrow, and Giovanni pressed into it, blindly grateful for even this, for the marks, for the unforgiving, sweet clench of Lorenzo’s body around him. Lorenzo’s eyes were closed, his lips parted and his chin tipped up, unguarded in ecstasy, and that too was a gift, one that Giovanni would spend the rest of his life earning over and over again. He reached for Lorenzo’s cock and Lorenzo chuckled again but allowed him the liberty. They were close. Closer. Somehow, Giovanni held on but barely until he felt Lorenzo spill into the cage of his fingers. 

Afterwards, after clean up, Giovanni kissed Lorenzo under the quilts until Lorenzo growled and swatted sleepily at him. “Let me rest,” Lorenzo grumbled, as Giovanni curled against him and settled for kissing his shoulders. “You are starting to annoy me.”

“Am I forgiven, _altezza_?” Giovanni tried to sound playful. Perhaps it did not work. Lorenzo rolled over with a frown. 

“Now what have you done?”

“For missing your birthday,” Giovanni explained. And more besides. He had never asked. 

“Oh, that.” Lorenzo pursed his lips. “I suppose I have some tasks for you on the morrow. Though I still do not like how you serve two masters.” 

_Not any more_ , Giovanni nearly said, though he kissed Lorenzo instead, chuckling as Lorenzo bit him and rolled back pointedly onto his flank, and Giovanni pressed the words against the back of Lorenzo’s neck instead, over the curve of his spine. The falcon had come to rest, and he knew but one falconer now. Tomorrow he would hunt.

**Author's Note:**

> Lorenzo de’ Medici is portrayed pretty sympathetically in Assassin’s Creed, but he ruled as a despot, and in the end the Medici finances pretty much collapsed. There’s definitely some things that he did that tbh probably should’ve been totally iffy to Giovanni IMO, but I’ve never really dealt with that kind of topic before, so.


End file.
